


Long After You're Gone

by Kedreeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Temporary Character Death, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: Stiles takes a hit from a chimera with a paralyzing toxin in its sting.





	Long After You're Gone

**Author's Note:**

> For Anna, who just wanted me to be nice for once. Alas.
> 
> Originally posted to [Tumblr](http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/163152367443) as an askbox prompt.
> 
> If you prefer sobbing over crying, put on Train's "Marry Me" and read on.

            Deaton jumped when the front door of the clinic slammed open and someone started smashing around in the front room. In the same instant he heard his name being called, desperately, frantically, and he opened the door to the back room. Derek stood at the edge of the front railing, unable to pass without permission.

            Draped over his arm, listing as he tried to remain upright, was Stiles.

            “We need help,” Derek said in a rush as Deaton crossed the space between them. As soon as the railing was unlatched, they stumbled forward. Deaton led them to the table in the back and helped Stiles to sit up on the edge of it.

            “Why aren’t you at a hospital?” Deaton asked, tipping Stiles’ head back toward the light and looking at his pupils, nearly dilated to blackness. It was then that he noticed the blood, seeping through the thick cotton shirt over Stiles’ ribs.

            “Chimera,” Derek explained. Deaton could see blood on his clothes, and more of it, but the wounds were closed or closing already. When Derek’s breath caught in his throat, Deaton looked up, met his pale gaze. “He took a direct hit from the tail.”

            “It was - going -  to bite - you,” Stiles bit out, sticky breaths punctuating between his words. Deaton could  _ _hear__  how tight his chest was.

            Regret pooled in Deaton’s belly, because he knew what that meant. “It bit you.”

            It took Stiles a few halting breaths before he was able to speak. “We killed - it.” He met Deaton’s eyes, brows scrunching in pain. “Now - fix - this.”

            Eyes closing, unable to hold his stare, Deaton shook his head. “I can’t.”

            Derek was on him in a second, claws out, snarling. “ _ _You have to__.”

            “I can’t!” he shouted back and both boys flinched. He shoved at Derek’s hands, knowing the wolf wouldn’t actually hurt him. “I told you to stay away from it  _ _for a reason__.”

            "It was -” Stiles managed, but the breath caught, stuck for a moment before he coughed. It sounded thick and strained. “Kids-”

            “It was stalking kids, Deaton. Two little girls on their way home from the park,” Derek cut in, so that Stiles wouldn’t have to. “What were we supposed to do? Let it?”

            Deaton sighed, glancing back to Stiles, who was giving him the same imploring look. Of course they all knew the answer. There was nothing else they could have done. Even if they had full knowledge of the potential cost, he knew they would have stepped in anyway.

            “There’s no anti-venom,” he said softly, watching Derek stiffen and Stiles close his eyes like he’d already figured it out. “It’s a paralytic venom that will affect your whole body. It’s already affecting your lungs and eyes; it won’t be long before it affects your heart.”

            “It - is,” Stiles said brokenly. “Dizzy.” He took a few breaths, staring at Derek until he found the strength to speak again. “Huh- how - long?”

            “An hour,” Deaton said. It felt so  _ _final__. “Maybe two.”

            “Call - everyone,” Stiles pleaded. “Dad. Scott.” His breath dragged in and out, scraping in and out of his throat. Deaton wondered how long it had already been. “Please.”

            Deaton threw a glance to Derek, but Derek had eyes only for Stiles. He could see the shine of tears in Derek’s eyes, the clean trails down his cheeks. He didn’t need to be a werewolf to hear the soft ‘no’ that whispered out of him.

            “I’ll get them all here,” he assured Stiles, backing away to give them room. “I leave you two alone until then.”

            Neither of them looked at him as he backed out of the room. The last thing he saw was Derek, pressing close between Stiles’ knees, touching their foreheads together. He stayed just long enough to see Stiles stiffly raise his arms, fingers gliding over the curve of Derek’s jaw, holding him there, holding him steady.

            The last thing he heard was Stiles’ quiet  _it’s going to be okay, puppy_ before he closed the door and moved toward the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

            Derek reached up, fingers encircling Stiles’ slender wrists, his eyes closed against reality. Stiles’ hands were cold on his jaw, his reassuring words a warm counterpoint that twisted in Derek’s gut.  _It’s going to be okay, puppy._

            “It’s not,” Derek told him softly, touching his nose to Stiles’. It was cold, too. “It’s not supposed to end like this.” He could barely get the words past the lump in his throat.

            A small puff of laughter brushed over Derek’s lips. “Tell me,” Stiles murmured, voice all rasp and gravel. “How it - ends.”

            Sliding his hands up Stiles’ arms, then down his sides to rest on his hips, Derek nodded. “It doesn’t, not for a long time,” he said, quiet and wobbly. “Not until after I propose to you, and you say yes.”

            “How do you - ask?” Stiles shifted a little, stiff and slow, and Derek moved with him, letting him bury his cold nose in the crook of Derek’s neck.

            “Out in the woods where we met,” Derek told him. He’d thought about it. He even had the money set aside in his savings.

            “Lame,” Stiles croaked, fingers curling at the nape of Derek’s neck. “I’m gonna - do it first.” He took a moment to breathe and Derek felt like his chest was being crushed as well. “At the - aquarium. — First date.”

            A broken laugh escaped Derek, the edge of a sob as he grasped at Stiles a little tighter. “Marry me,” he said in a rush.

            “Okay,” Stiles replied, breath stuttering as he chuckled. “And then?”

            “And then we’ll get married,” Derek told him, knowing his voice was strained, feeling the tears tracking down his cheeks as he focused on Stiles’ labored heartbeat. The others weren’t going to make it in time. “We’ll get real jobs, and a real house. We’ll get really comfortable couches and the biggest bed that will fit and we’ll paint it whatever colors we want.”

            “I lo-” Stiles halted, swallowing to try to clear his throat even though there was no way it could help. “I love…” He pressed his nose against Derek’s skin, slippery with tears. “You.”

            “I know,” Derek said, voice catching. He knew why Stiles said it; he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to speak. “I love you too, Stiles.”

            “Tell — them?”

            “Of course,” Derek assured him, eyes closing tight. “Everyone. I’ll watch your dad, and Scott. I’ll keep them safe for you. I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, too.”

            “Not — your —- fault,” Stiles told him. Derek felt his grip tightening just a little, like he needed Derek to believe him.

            “Okay,” Derek said, though he knew it would never be the truth. Stiles had taken the attack to save him.

            “House,” Stiles prompted, and Derek felt his eyes slide closed against his neck.

            Derek wasn’t sure he could find the words to tell Stiles all of the future he wanted. “Yeah, a house,” he agreed, hands trembling as he smoothed them up and then down Stiles’ sides. “And a cat, or a dog, or whatever you want.”

            “Kid,” Stiles supplied, a barely scraped out word.

            “A kid, okay,” Derek agreed instantly, fresh tears leaping to his eyes, his throat closing up around the thought. “A little girl.”

            “Laura,” Stiles said. His chest was heaving stiffly with the effort of drawing breath, his heartbeat so slow in Derek’s ears.

            “I was thinking Claudia,” Derek said, the corner of his lip twitching up at the name. He’d been so afraid to tell Stiles any of this. It didn’t seem fair to be telling him now.

            “Sof— softie,” Stiles accused on a breath. Derek had time to count between heartbeats now.

            “Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Anything for you. That’s how it’s supposed to go, Stiles. We’re supposed to get jobs and a house and a family, and watch terrible movies and have Sunday brunch and take summer vacations.” He knew he was rambling now, pouring out the things Stiles should have heard from him all along. “We’re supposed to grow old together, to yell at kids to get off our lawn and hold hands on the front porch and fall asleep next to each other every night forever. Stiles, please,” Derek mumbled brokenly against him.

            But Stiles’ grip had gone slack around Derek’s neck, his heart no longer beating beneath Derek’s palms.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Stiles blinked open dry eyes to a pale white ceiling, marred only by blurry yellow light. Low voices filtered in from the hall, and electronic noises beeped somewhere Stiles could not see.

            Something whirred, and Stiles felt his chest move, felt air flood his lungs. He did not fight it, did not pull the tube from his throat, just let the machine breathe for him.

            He shifted his head as much as he could, a tiny fraction to his right, and caught sight of Scott curled up in a chair by the door, asleep.

            Somewhere, a machine started to scream, and darkness swallowed Stiles whole.

 

* * *

 

            When he next struggled back to consciousness, it was dark. A sliver of light cut the room, falling over the lumpy form slouched in the chair. His dad, he thought.

            The machine whirred, still breathing for Stiles. Maybe it still had to. Maybe it always would. He surrendered his tenuous hold on consciousness before he could worry too much about it.

 

* * *

 

            Stiles’ body  _ached_  the third time he woke, but at least the tube had gone. An invisible anvil rested on his chest, each breath a struggle, but at least he  _was_  breathing of his own accord. He rasped in once, twice, three slow times before he realized there was something in his hand.

            Fighting the lethargy pulling him down, he turned his head to the left and found he was not alone. Derek sat with his head on the edge of the bed, his hand curled into Stiles’.

            “Derek,” Stiles managed, voice like scratching sandpaper over raw granite.

            Derek stirred and then startled, his hand tightening reflexively. “Stiles,” he breathed out, looking like he might just climb right into the bed. His eyes were human red, the sort that told Stiles he’d been crying enough even werewolf healing had gotten tired of fixing it.

            “I’m alive?” he asked. It hurt to talk even that much.

            A small, broken laugh puffed out of Derek. “You’re alive,” he said, like maybe he hadn’t been sure until that moment either.

            “How?” Stiles asked, confused. He’d felt his heart stop. He’d had a moment after that, listening to Derek call his name, unable to respond. He’d died listening to Derek beg him not to go.

            Apparently, he’d listened for once.

            “Scott,” Derek told him, glancing toward the empty doorway. Stiles guessed his best friend wasn’t far, probably taking care of his dad for him. “He found a way to counteract the venom’s effects, a little. Enough.”

            “I died,” Stiles said, voice shaking. Surreal did not begin to cover the way saying that aloud felt.

            “Yes,” Derek said, choking on the word. His hand squeezed tighter and he leaned in to press his forehead to Stiles’. “You died. Alan brought you back and kept your heart going until Melissa got here with the drug, and then they brought you here.”

            “Hurts,” Stiles managed. He could barely keep his eyes open.

            Derek huffed another relieved laugh, and stroked a hand over Stiles clammy hair. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I cracked your sternum doing CPR while Deaton found a human defibrillator.”

            “Then he defillibrated me,” Stiles said, slurring and fuzzy, and he knew that wasn’t the right word. “Iluv you,” he slurred. That was important. It was important Derek knew that. “Love…”

            “I know. I love you too, Stiles,” Derek said, kissing his forehead. It felt like floating. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re going to be fine.”

            And Stiles slept, knowing it was true.


End file.
